Why Does Plasma Energy Solution Have Sole Support For You?
Two Reasons Follow:
First A Tale of 3 Birds:
Mrs. Eagle: Honey, it looks like a good day for nest building!
Mrs. Eagle: okay, keep bringing more…these are good!
Mr. Eagle: Are we almost done? Weather’s getting crummy….
Mrs. Eagle: We’re almost done…let’s go get a couple more…..
And while they are getting a couple more……
Mr. Raven: I’m from the government and I’m here to inspect and to help you:
Mr. Raven: hmm, this is nice, I think I’ll take it with me…..
Don’t you sometimes wonder how things seem to slip through your fingers?
Why Does Plasma Energy Solution Have Sole Support For You?
Reason 2 Follows:
Fast Food…what Dr. Paul learned about bartering with crafty ranchers and another good reason for Sole Support: Fast Food….Was It A Good Trade?
“I’m going to be a veterinarian because I like animals, and I don’t want to have to mess with people.“
These immortal words were uttered by Paul in the mid-sixties when he decided to go back to college and get the requirements necessary for applying to veterinary school. He now admits that those were probably the most uninformed words said by anyone during the sixties, and they launched him on his twenty-seven-year veterinary career in learning all about humans.
“How in the world did it think those animals were going to arrive at my clinic? By themselves with a credit card attached to their collars and their cab fare held carefully in their teeth?”
Paul started his pre-veterinary training in September, 1965, the week after we married. He studied hard to bring up his grades from the wonderful time he had enjoyed in his college years before he was drafted into the Army. The studying paid off and he was accepted to Colorado State University College of Veterinary Medicine. After he graduated, he opened his own practice in our hometown, Gallup, New Mexico. He was one of a handful of students who went straight from school to his own practice, since he wanted to be his own boss.
Not all our clinic inhabitants were docile creatures. About a year after he started his practice, Paul went out to a local ranch one Sunday to do some pregnancy testing on the cows. He had arranged with the rancher to take a yearling steer to fatten up for our winter meat supply. We were used to the docile 4-H calves our neighbors had raised in Ft. Collins, and we figured we’d just put the steer in one of the pens in the clinic yard in front of our house.
I was indoors, feeding our three kids, Stephanie, Anthony, and Luke their lunches. Or should I say, I was supervising the placement of more food in mouths than on each other and the floor. Stephanie was four years old, Anthony was two and Luke was one. Those were the days I longed for a showerhead over the kitchen table and a drain under the table. A fire hose and a set of carwash rolling brushes would have completed my requirements for cleaning up this crew! (I had to settle for putting all the high chairs in the shower once a week to get rid of all the stored gummy stuff in the handles, etc.) Scooter, our Labrador was standing guard under the table waiting for whatever was dropped accidentally, or on purpose, that was edible. I heard Paul drive up and went out to investigate.
To say this steer he had acquired reminded me of those docile, sweet-faced calves I remembered from Ft. Collins would be an outright lie. His eyes were rolling, his sides were heaving and he stood stiffly amid the restraining ropes in which he had been cross-tied for the trip from the ranch.
“That ranch must be one of those New Mexico ranches that raises race cattle; they have to race from one tiny patch of grass to another just to stay alive,” I thought. Our New Mexico high desert plateau is well-suited for raising cedar, sagebrush and an occasional sheep.
Paul backed our horse trailer to the corral gate. The trailer was a standard two-horse, covered trailer with about an 18-inch opening along the upper sides. Before the steer was unloaded, Paul decided to give him a vitamin injection, and then just to be prudent, a mild tranquilizer. While the tranquilizer was taking effect, I ran back into the house to check on the kids and was barely inside when I heard a horrendous racket and Paul was hollering, ”Lynn, come quick!”
I ran outside with Stephanie and Anthony scrambling out of their chairs to follow me as far as the front door with their sandwiches. Luke was hollering in his high chair because he’d been left alone on top of having his lunch fed to him in my erratic fashion. As the screen door slammed shut behind me, I saw the steer crawling over the 18-inch opening on the side of the horse trailer with the loosened ropes trailing, and leaping to the ground.
“Hurry, close the front gates! I’ll try to keep him in the part of the yard!”
I was wearing wooden clogs at the time and the entire driveway area in the clinic yard was covered with large, chunky red gravel. As I ran stumbling past the horse stalls to the gate, I’m sure I looked like a cross between an ostrich and a little girl playing dress-up in her mother’s ill-fitting shoes. I got the chain link gates closed and was fumbling the lock and chain when I heard the steer crashing into the back fence by the house. I could hear Luke faintly from the house. Stephanie and Anthony were munching wide-eyed on their sandwiches at the front door watching the action. Scooter stood next to them, eyes darting greedily from sandwich to sandwich. As the steer hit the fence again, it bent severely.
Paul was running towards the steer flailing his arms and hollering to distract him from going over the fence, or worse still, ramming the house. The steer turned abruptly, fixed his maddened eyes on the gate, and headed in my direction.
“Head him off! Head him off!”
I came running awkwardly from the gates and began waving my arms and hollering at the steer. It looked as though he and I were going to play the classic game of chicken as he headed straight for me. I decided it was a good time to head for the sidelines, and stumbling in the clogs, got as close to the clinic as I could. The steer hit the front gates and they sprang open as though they were paper. He went careening down the street, heading for the interstate, which was about a mile and a half away.
“Lynn, go call the police and tell them we’ve got a steer loose! Tell them to try to head him off before he gets to the highway!” Paul hollered as he led his old black roping horse out of a stall.
I stumble-clumped to the house as Paul was throwing a saddle on Blackie, and called the police who were about a mile down the road from us I was being bombarded by questions from our little spectators.
“Mom, where did that cow go?”
“How come he ran away?”
“Is Dad going to go roping out on the street?”
“Yaaa,” was Luke’s angry contribution to all the questions.
The dispatcher at the police station answered and my words tumbled over each other as I said, “This is Redrock Animal Hospital. We’ve just had a steer escape and he’s headed down the road, your direction, to the Interstate!” I added hastily, “Dr Schmaltz just headed out the gate on his black horse and he’ll try to catch him—could you get a couple of cars out to try to divert the steer?” As I was talking to the police, I could see Paul and Blackie disappearing down the road, Paul coiling his rope as he went.
“Hurry up kids, grab your sandwiches and we’ll go follow Dad!” I exclaimed as I was gathering up Luke and a piece of sandwich. “Hurry, get in the car!”
We slammed the house door shut, leaving the feast behind for Scooter. I staggered across the driveway with the protesting Luke under one arm. I jerked the door open to our low-slung red Olds we had bought recently from a friend and thought, “So much for the ‘no food in the car rule,’” and dumped Luke unceremoniously into his car seat with some sandwich hastily jammed into his hands. “Hurry everyone, buckle up!”
I backed out of the driveway throwing chunks of gravel right and left as we went. A motley crew of dirty faces, puzzled looks and half-eaten sandwiches in tightly clenched fists comprise the back seat inhabitants of the car. “I need to go potty,” Stephanie wailed.
“Okay, in just a few minutes,” I roared down the road towards the police station. As I came over the hill, there were two police cars with lights flashing, a car with a U-Haul trailer and a couple of other cars. People were clustered around the U-Haul as the apparent driver talked to the policeman, gesturing towards the trailer. I pulled up near one of the policemen.
“Did you see Dr. Schmaltz or the steer anywhere?”
“He just went chasing it over that hill. The steer charged into that trailer over there and then took off towards the Hogback. I’d say he’s got a half-mile on the doc.”
I decided to drive to the east side of town near the Hogback, a rocky ridge that separated the east side of town for several miles, but only by the Interstate and the railroad. I knew Paul was hoping to catch the steer before he got beyond the Hogback because then he’d have hundreds of miles to roam.
“Where’s Dad, Mom?” asked Stephanie.
“I don’t know.”
“Didn’t he want to eat his lunch today?” she persisted.
“Yes, I’m sure he did,” I replied. Anthony and Luke sat quietly, munching on their sandwiches, taking in all the action.
We turned off the road a couple of times where I estimated a lone horseman chasing a berserk steer might be at that point, but there was no sign of Paul, Blackie or the steer. There were homes very sparsely situated in the area and lots of open country dotted with sagebrush. I tried one more turn-off by the old Peritti Dairy, which was mainly deserted ramshackle pens and came up on Paul sitting on Blackie, looking at the broken fence in front of him. Blackie’s sides were heaving from all the cross-country exercise.
“What can I get for you?“ I hollered from the car. I was nearly drowned out by the chorus from the back seat.
“Dad, how come you’re riding Blackie way out here?”
“Don’t you want to eat lunch today?”
“Can I ride Blackie, huh?”
“Dadadada…”
“You should see how Mom was driving.”
“Wouldn’t you rather go roping at Larry’s?”
Paul rode Blackie closer to the car. With a pathetic smile, he said, “Hi kids. Not right now.” His expression quickly changed to his stubborn look for special occasions when things aren’t going exactly as he planned.
“I lost one of my ropes, so bring me another one and bring my rifle. If I can’t rope the damn thing, I’ll shoot him before he loses another hundred pounds. We’ve been through seven barbed wire fences and at least ten people’s yards. We went tearing through someone’s yard just as they were all bringing their lunch outdoors to eat. They looked up and presto, here comes a steer through their yard, followed by a maniac on a black horse.”
‘Oh no, what did you say?”
“Nothing. At this point I had the steer on the end of the rope and I was trying to hang on and let him run down slowly. Besides, I didn’t’ want him charging like he did that car and U-Haul by the police station. I lost him and the rope at the last fence because I didn’t want Blackie to get cut up.”
“Well, I’ll get your stuff and come back out here and see if you’re anywhere to be found.”
“Hey, Lynn, bring me some spurs, too,” Paul hollered as I started backing up. “Blackie’s getting a little tired of this whole exercise.”
The kids and I sped on home and gathered up the spurs, rope and rifle. Stephanie got her break and we headed out the gates once again.
“Is Dad going to really shoot the cow? He can’t shoot the cow! I’m going to tell Grandma!” wailed Stephanie.
At Peritti’s Dairy all I saw of evidence that Paul had been there were two broken fences. By this time it was about 2:30 and everyone was getting cranky and had quite enough of being bounced around on bumpy dirt roads. The four of us went home to wait for Paul. We waited, and we waited.
Finally about 5:30 I heard someone in the yard. A very bedraggled Paul and Blackie were out by the stalls.
“The steer is down in the ditch across the road,” Paul said.
“Is he still alive?” I queried
“Other than a broken horn, a cut up chest, and a sore foot, I think he’s all right. But he’s worn out. I’m sure he lost any fat he had on him in the afternoon.”
“Now what are you going to do?”
Paul suggested, “Let’s call Eddie and have him come down and ride Henry and we’ll herd the steer across the road. I can’t leave him there for long because of the wild dogs.”
Henry was the young roping horse who had been laid up for the last month with a sore shoulder, that he got from banging into his feeder one afternoon when someone didn’t arrive at 4:37 with his grain. He’d learned that raising a lot of racket usually produced food at an earlier time, so he practically tore his stall apart when he thought his humans were behind schedule.
“Isn’t Henry too sore to ride?” I ventured.
“If Henry’s not able to make it, I’ll shoot him and the steer and leave them both in the ditch!” sputtered Paul, whose patience had vanished several hours ago.
Paul and Eddie spent about 45 minutes getting ropes under the hindquarters of the steer and coaxing him up with both horses leaning on him to keep him from failing. Finally at 6:30 they came slowly through the gates and got him into the corral. What a pathetic sight he was! One horn was hanging garishly and he looked as though he’d been in the Boston Marathon with no training.
Paul stood looking at his prize steak dinners. “He ought to dress out at about two hundred pounds of beef jerky. That’s no yearling—he’s a four-year-old pygmy that breaks fences. That’s a good lesson to having someone else pick out your steer,” With that he and Eddie went to the house to clean up and eat a belated lunch.
We kept the steer, who acquired the name of Elmo, for another three months, feeding him the best hay and grain. Anytime someone got ready to leave our house, Stephanie would pipe, “Walk verrry carefully past Elmo! We don’t want to have him get scared and climb out of his pen!”
Everyone trod carefully past his pen as we certainly didn’t want any repeat performances of his great escape attempt. When he was finally butchered, it was about the worst beef we’d ever head. We made lots of hamburger, chili and stew with what we didn’t give away.
One day, several months later, after the whole escapade was fading into oblivion, a pretty, soft-spoken red-haired woman came into the clinic with her new kitten. I helped her fill out the records on the new kitten and took her back to meet Paul so he could examine and vaccinate the kitten.
“You know,” she said, “I might have sort of met up with you before. I just moved here from Colorado Springs a few months ago. My boyfriend was driving and I had just awakened as we drove into town. Right after we turned off the Interstate, we had a steer charge into our trailer.”
Paul was looking very sheepish, ”I‘ve tried to find out from the police who that was. I’ll be glad to reimburse you for any damage he might have done.”
“Oh, that’s all right. It wasn’t that noticeable, and I showed it to the dealer when we turned in the trailer and told him the story. He said that was a new one on him, but the damage was so slight there wouldn’t be any charge.” She continued, “I really had a lot of misgivings about moving here, and after this steer came lunging out of nowhere and rammed into our trailer, I told my fiance to just keep on driving south to Phoenix. I’d never been greeted anywhere like that!”
I left the room before I started laughing. The escapade of Elmo was still not Paul’s favorite topic. In fact, it only took seven years, four months and sixteen days to even get him to smile about Elmo. But I knew that I’ll never forget the sight of Paul and Blackie tearing out the front gate of the clinic in hot pursuit of an angry steer!
Sole Support would have been good for the whole Schmaltz family that day!
It was 43 years before Dr. Paul and Lynn were formulating plasma energy combinations…
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